


Two Hearts, One Soul

by Raquiesha



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raquiesha/pseuds/Raquiesha
Summary: What is the cost of freedom?The struggling Adalinde De Sardet meets the independent Siora and finds out by herself.Or: The outline of the longfic that never will be.
Relationships: De Sardet/Siora (GreedFall)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post my unfinished work here, the last part(s?) should be uploaded quite soon.  
> I will not make this into a longfic as I first intended but instead post the bits and pieces I managed to scrabble down because... *looks distressingly at my other unfinished fics*  
> So it is what it is, but I thought it better to dust here than abandoned on my computer. I hope it is somewhat coherent lmao, but you as a reader probably need to have played the game to understand.  
> And, yes, if you have played the game you will notice a few creative changes to the story and timeline. It's because I'm lazy.

_My dear Mother,_

_Shall I tell you about Teer Fradee?_

_It’s an island more hostile, fragile, and alien than anything I’ve ever encountered._

_Teer Fradee, the most godless of places, yet its terrifying beauty the only evidence they exist._

_This strange country is, by chance or destiny, now to be considered my home. But Mother, it will never be my land of birth._

_My only wish is you were here to see it for yourself._

_To endure the hardships I encounter, I remind myself that every single step I take here is for you._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Adalinde de Sardet_

*

The sails bellied and oars splashed behind me as I stepped ashore the port of New Serene. Seabirds cried above me; some I recognized, some I didn’t. 

Every oar stroke, every gust of wind had brought me closer to where I found myself standing. Though my heart grew heavy at the thought of leaving the sea — or rather, leaving the ship that could bring me back to Serene — I was determined.

Determined to save others from the heartbreak of having their mothers rotting to death before their eyes.

My chapped lips, coated with sea salt and the less than welcoming concoction tincture proffered to me, quickly found their wit. I had to be quick, shrewd, and cunning to balance two equally as impossible tasks. Diplomacy, a better word for preventing war and political scandals, was why my uncle hired me to be here, while finding the cure to the Malichor was _why_ I was here.

If only Mr de Courcillon warned me for what I was to meet.

*

As I gazed upon the battlefield, only one thought struck me.

We are all barbarians. 

Bodies of Islanders and soldiers from the Bridge Alliance lay scattered like leaves in fall, their sacrifice unnecessary. Their contribution had only started a large-scale war, and their deaths ended nothing but their lives. Flags and banners billowed forlornly, veiled by black smoke and occasional cries.

“Let us spread out,” I ordered my men, inhaling the smell of burned flesh. “Look for survivors and traces of the Queen.”

I didn’t go far before my body jolted. My brain was in pandemonium, swarming with vague memories, with distant emotions of love and loathing, questions, even resentment. They all were blended together, flashing by in rapid succession.

Trying to make sense of it all, I looked down in quiet astonishment. My armor had been dented, and an arrow made from bone poked out of my chest. My legs were close to buckling beneath me as steaming, dark blood filled my cupped hands. 

I didn’t want to die, but the amount of blood, the stinging smell of copper, reminded me that Death was merciless. Either it arrived too quick or slow; but arrived it always did. 

A loud, unexpected ululation broke my spell. Staggering like a wounded doe, clutching at my chest, I willed myself to turn about. My vision swam, yet I saw the assailant clearly. He stared fearlessly back at me, his searing face painted with glistening blood and clay. 

He had already trained another arrow at me, prepared to end my misery. 

How many had I not condemned to death myself? The battlefield I stood in was only one of many rippling consequences that stemmed from my choices. My blood splashed down the trampled, rust-colored mud. It was only fair I perished where so many others had. 

But it didn't change that I wanted to live.

I took a step backward from the Islander. “Please,” I forced myself to say, my throat burning with exhaustion. 

I stumbled over the blue-tinged, limp arm of an Islander and fell. Death towered over me, abandoning his bow for a wooden club.

“Please,” I pleaded.

The last thing I saw was the club swinging towards me.

*

When I was a child, I had a nervous habit of running my fingers across the hardened skin on my cheek. My mother always chided me and told me not to, saying it attracted unwanted attention. My mother, bless her soul, had not understood that my deformity attracted unwanted attention no matter what I did. 

It was challenging to get rid of that vice, if one is to call it that. But several nursemaids and governesses later, I stopped. 

How, one might wonder? After endless tries and bribes, they began to use a method called ‘classical conditioning’. It is a psychological term formed by scientists from the Bridge Alliance, which worked as follows: whenever they saw me perform my calming ritual, my only way to stop shivering like a leaf, they brought forward a ruler and spanked me. My screams, I have been told, were heard all over the Palace. 

Not one person stopped it from happening. It would seem that no one cared about the young girl who was beaten blue and yellow, but that was not true. The thing was that I was no ordinary girl. I was a shame upon the royal house -- a young, malformed aristocrat, and as we all know, aristocrats cannot stand ugly. They all knew, and they cared. Just not the way I wished them to. 

When I realized that no one was coming to my aid, I decided to change my own destiny. I became a wit student, and an avid follower of societal etiquette, and soon, my uncle came to see me as more than a shameful secret. 

If I only had known that my choices were to bring me here, to Teer Fradee, perhaps I would not have worked so hard. Perhaps my fingers still would trace my discolored skin.

For one reason or another, that was what I thought of when I fleeted in and out of consciousness. My skull felt as if it was about to implode, but warm hands traveled fearlessly across my bare skin, stilling my anxiousness. It was the first time someone other than my mother or Constantin touched me without fear of contracting the disease I carried.

The courtesans I paid for embracing me in the dark always had an ill hidden hint of disgust in their eyes; the physicians my mother hired had made a point of gloving their hands.

But here, at this moment, I was touched like I was _normal_. 

“Stay still, _renaigse,_ ” Siora said harshly, holding me down. “I’m trying to heal you.”

Eseld snorted her disapproval, muttering in their native language. Siora responded quietly, keeping her focus on me. It seemed as if the two sisters quibbled. 

If only I had not felt like dying, I might have been able to mediate between them.

Then the sound of approaching footfalls reached my ringing ears, abruptly ending their conversation. 

“What happened?” I heard Aphra say, more surprised than worried. It was a wonder neither Eseld nor her surviving clan members attacked her, being an enemy, a Lion. 

“A native thought her to be a soldier.” Vasco sighed heavily, wiping grime from his face. “Kurt had no other choice than to kill him.”

The warm hands stilled on my body before they balled into fists, nearly pinching my skin. I felt for Siora. Maybe she had known the islander. Maybe she could have talked him out from crushing my head. Maybe she could have saved his life if she had.

Aphra’s light feet sank into the damp ground close to us. “I‘m sorry. Siora, Eseld... I can’t seem to find your mother anywhere.” A pause. “She must have been taken prisoner.”

Siora’s fists trembled, sending rippling shockwaves through my skin. I raised my head. 

“Stay still,” Siora repeated, the sharp edge gone from her voice. I tried to open my eyes, but it felt as if they were glued together, so I abandoned the idea. 

“I will find her,” I rasped into her ear. I wasn’t sure she could hear me at first, but then her fists slowly uncurled. She pressed her calloused palms against my clammy skin, resuming her healing, but they still quivered. I wanted to grasp her brave fingers, but my strength was ailing. “I will,” I promised, before allowing myself to return to feverish sleep. 

*

I always kept my promises, but it did not stop Queen Bladnid’s glazed eyes from accusing me. A nervous shiver went down my spine. Could she curse me from the other side? 

With a gut swirling with fear, my fingers quickly brushed at her lids, closing them. Her skin was waxen, cold, against my fingertips. An upset, fat blow-fly skittered across my vision, and I felt Siora’s heavy gaze on me as she cautiously followed my every move. I wished I could close her eyes as well.

Instead, I cleared my throat, stepping away from the corpse before Esild forced me to. I pretended what I did was an act of respect and reverence, anything but unease. 

“It is what we do in our culture,” I added hastily. 

“Your hands are dirty with the blood of our earth, _renaigse,_ ” Esild spat. “Don’t touch her again.” 

The two sisters went up to their mother and I stepped aside, giving them a sense of privacy. Siora was sobbing quietly, her shoulders stiff and straight, as she bent over the body to kiss the sunken cheek. Esild then pressed her warm, living brow to the cold, dead brow of Queen Bladnid. Their silent grief was deafening. I averted my eyes as they lifted the stretcher where their _matir_ lay, their arms tensing at the weight. 

Not once did I glance at Bladnid during our trek back to the village of Vedrhais.

*

The nights on Teer Fradee were cold, if not much in temperature, so in everything else. I shuffled closer to the crackling fire.

“It is beautiful, don’t you think?” Aphra could have been talking about the crooning stars or the dancing vegetation, but she was not. She spoke of the keening that sounded from the nearby village; of pure sorrow; of pure love. 

I did not share her opinion, preferring solemn laments over the primal cries I was hearing. I nodded. “It is.” I felt my mouth twist in pain from moving my head. “Although it is difficult to appreciate when my head hurts.”

“Let me take a look.” Without warning, Aphra’s daft hands gently grasped my neck, leaning me closer. A pained groan eloped from my throat. “Not even a scratch. It is remarkable.” When she let go of me, I noted she wore gloves.

Petrus huffed from where he sat, scribbling notes. “I hope you know what you are doing, Adalinde. The war with the natives has not yet been in your favor.” His shrewd gaze left his journal and fixed itself on me. “If you want some friendly advice --”

“Knock it off, Petrus,” Kurt said. He peered at me from his makeshift cot. “She knows how to handle herself.”

“Says the very person who is supposed to keep the Prince d’Orsay’s favorite kin safe,” Petrus replied tartly. Kurt muttered.

A tent flap opened and Vasco clambered out. “You’re all blabbering more than a load of cabin boys.” He sighed and patted my shoulder. “I’ll take your shift, Your Excellency. Try to catch some sleep. I’m sure your head will feel better in the morning.”

“Are you certain?” I asked. He gave a firm nod. “Thank you, Vasco. I owe you one.” 

Petrus sighed. “Debts does not become a diplomat, young one,” he said to me.

He was not wrong.

*

Siora was pale and her eyes red-rimmed by the time she returned to us. 

“You can stay with your people for the burials,” Vasco told her. How a Naut could sound so soft, so gentle, was difficult to grasp. “We’d understand.”

She shook her head, hunching into her clothes. The hem of her robe was lined with dirt, her pants stained with mud. “The rites will take at least a moon to prepare, with all dead. I must be with you.” Her gaze touched mine. “I have a favor to repay.”

“But you are their, uh, _doneigad_?” Kurt joined in. “Do they not need you?”

“Burials are as natural as breathing.” Siora placed herself by the fire. “They need no _doneigad_ for that.”

Kurt scratched his stubbled chin. “I see.”

I turned my eyes from them, wondering what was to prefer. The death that awaited my mother, or the one that had claimed Siora’s. 

My mother’s; the slow death, the fall that never seemed to end. Where the body rot before the breathings ceases.

Her mother’s: the quick death, the heavy downpour that came from nowhere. Where the mind has no time to prepare.

I also wondered which death awaited me. 

*

The winds wailed and clawed outside the jittering canvas tent. I closed my hands in orison, silently praying for the fabric to hold, to keep the downfall out. I was not necessarily what one would call a religious woman, but some nights I thought it better to be sure. The rain in Teer Fradee tasted like copper and blood. I was tired of tasting death and sickness on my tongue.

The lone flame that kept me company flickered, drops of fat trailing down its candle. 

I heard Kurt let out a frustrated huff. I could imagine him sitting vigil around the spluttering, dying makeshift fire, doing his best to keep himself dry. As I huddled into my moth-eaten blanket, it was hard not to feel guilty. 

My thoughts were interrupted when my tent flap opened, and in came Siora. She smelled of rain and moss. 

“Am I interrupting?” she asked as she peeked in, her accent thick. I glanced down my journal which lay open on my thighs, unable to come up with a lie believable enough.

“No, please, enter,” I said, beckoning her. “You are soaking.”

Drops of water lay dormant on her furs, not able to penetrate the layers of skins, and she licked away a drop from her upper lip. 

“Thank you.” She placed herself in front of me, cross-legged. I scooted to make more room and closed my journal, putting it beside my bedroll.

As I waited for her to reveal her reason to seek me out, I regarded her high cheekbones, her freckles, her eyes. Without her knowing it, she filled me with the most conflicting feelings.

On the one hand, she was a savage, a beast in nature, and more importantly, a woman. On the other, I could not forget the sensation of her hands, the warm, soothing magic seeping into my lonesome bones.

No, I was certainly not a stranger to keep the company of women. It was a secret between them and myself, and (of course) Constantin. Perhaps Mother had suspected, and perhaps that’s why I never was forced into an arranged marriage. 

But I was my highest judge. Sharing a bed with a woman was not something I did lightly or without regret and shame, which explains why I could simultaneously regard Siora with disgust and intrigue. While she was innocent, her sole presence corrupted me with sinful thoughts, and it was easier to blame her existence than my impure mind. 

I neatly clasped my ungloved hands on my thighs. “Was there something you wished to tell me?” I said when she sat quietly, hiding my frustration. 

“Eseld can be harsh,” she began carefully, gesturing with her hands. “Don’t take it personally.”

“She has every reason to be suspicious,” I said matter-of-factly. “I would not have trusted myself, either.”

My eyes fixed themselves on the wood-like formations that grew out of Siora’s head. When I first set my eyes on her, I had believed her hair matted with filth. I had preferred it over the fact that it, indeed, was wood-like formations that grew out of Siora’s head. Lady Morange and Aphra both had tried to explain the phenomena to me; I could still not quite comprehend it. 

Siora, for a short moment self-aware, dragged a nervous hand through her slick hair. I was embarrassed for being caught staring, so I quickly moved my gaze to meet hers. 

“If it weren’t for you _, matir_ would still be in the Lions’ claws.”

I willed myself to smile. “You should give your thanks to Aphra, not me, Siora. She was the one who made her retrieval possible.”

Siora leaned toward me, grasping my folded hands. Her sudden touch sent pleasurable shivers down my spine, awakening emotions I’d tried to drown my whole life. I fought not to pull away from her. 

“I heard what you said to them, _Carants._ It was your doing.”

“I only did what was needed.” I slowly freed myself from her grip, patting her hands in a way I imagined Petrus would. The islanders were much more intimate than I was used to; not even the boldest courtesans were so intrusive. “I am glad it worked.”

The tent suddenly felt suffocatingly small. I usually did not need to struggle to find subjects to speak of, but now, I was at a loss of words, my mouth parched. I brought up my journal and dropped my quill in ink. “What word was it you just said?” I wondered, flipping to where I had arranged a neat dictionary of my own. “Carats? Carans?”

It was Siora’s turn to smile. She must’ve thought it amusing, that she had learned to speak our language fluently, while few of us had learned hers. “ _Carants,_ ” she repeated. “It means friend.”

“Oh.” The tip of my quill stilled against the paper. “I am honored,” I said. It was well that I at least had one friend among the natives -- it would make my job somewhat easier. Her neck pinkened. 

I scribbled down the meaning of the word and shut the book closed. When I returned to look at her again, she soundlessly had moved closer to me. 

My heartbeats drummed against my ribs as a myriad of scenarios went through my mind. Her hand lifted to touch my cheek, my neck, the hardened skin other people feared to touch. 

I was torn between closing the distance between us or swatting her hand away. Both opportunities vanished when she removed her hand, cocking her head to the side. 

“You are one of us,” she said slowly, knotting her brow in confusion. “You bear our mark. You are _on ol menawi._ ”

“This?” My own hand flew up to touch my blot of shame. Not one of my myriad of scenarios had predicted this outcome. “No. It is impossible.”

“It’s not,” she pressed. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have it.”

I swallowed. “I think it is time for you to leave, Siora. We’ll have an early rise in the morning. I wish to be in New Serene before noon.”

A flicker of hurt and rejection crossed her face, but she left without complaint. As I stared up the ceiling, my fingers idly tracing the scablike skin on my neck and cheek, an uncomfortable thought rooted in my mind, impossible to erase.

It felt like wood. 

  
  


*

“My dear, dear, cousin,” Constantin said to me with a theatrical flourish. “I truly wish I could say you were fair, but today, you look dreadful.” A wide smile broke through his features, but he could not fool me. The days of youthful carelessness lay miles and months behind us, and it wore him more than me. He had always been more sensitive than I. “Another glass of wine?”

“Why not, Governor,” I said, doffing my shoes so that I could curl up into my armchair. I held out my empty glass toward him. “And, have you looked in a mirror lately? You are one to talk.” As he went over to me, pouring dark wine into my glass, I caught his gaze. Dark circles surrounded his once lively eyes, and his cheeks had turned grey and sunken. “Seriously, Constantin. I am worried about you.” 

He waved away my worry and refilled his glass before falling into a pouffy armchair of his own. How many drinks had he had by now? I’d lost count. 

I stared down my glass, my finger idly tracing its rim. When it was evident that he refused to talk about his ailing health, I changed the subject. “Have you heard anything from Mother?”

He shook his head and raised his glass to take a deep drink. “No,” he said, smacking his lips. “But no news is good news, is it not?”

I told myself it was, but we both knew it was a lie. It took months for a message to travel from Serene to the Teer Fradee, the faraway land we now called home. I leaned back into the soft paddings. It felt nice to be back in New Serene, to be back in Constantin’s company. I was getting tired of traveling this corrupt, strange continent, never knowing what obstacles I would encounter. 

“What about your new friends?” Constantin said, breaking the silence. I peered at him. I knew he longed for adventure, almost more than he longed to please his father, and he envied my life on the road. He was, after all, stuck in this palace, and if it were not for Lady Morange, his advisors, and ministers, he would know next to nothing about the lands he now governed. But not even he could not be so gullible to believe that I viewed my companions as friends. 

“Friends?” I forced a short laugh, remembering what Siora had called me. _Carants._ “They are not my friends, cousin.”

He regarded me over the edge of his glass. “Kurt? Petrus?”

“ _E_ _specially_ not Kurt or Petrus.” 

His smile turned sly. “What about the scholar of yours? What was her name?” He searched for it. “Aph… Aphra?” My groan spurred him further. “Or the savage?”

“Hush!” Alarmed, my eyes flitted around the empty room that was his private chamber. If someone heard . . . “You can never call them that, not even when it is only me. The walls have ears,” I warned.

He gestured apologetically. “You are right. Forgive me.” He then quirked his brow, and it stood clear that he was not at all apologetic, the sod. “Are you avoiding my question?”

My voice was harder than intended. “I am not!” I took a deep breath, and then softer, added, “I just do not have any friends, special or not.” I hoped he was getting the hint -- this was a topic I wanted to change. 

“All right, all right.” He returned his focus to his wine. “I only hoped one of us was getting their share of joy,” he mumbled. 

I let out a heavy sigh and relaxed. The wine was getting to my head, making me feel warm and dizzy. “I would appreciate it if you toned that down a bit too,” I said. 

“No one is here but us.” Did he sound hurt, or was it my imagination? “I miss how we used to be.”

“You mean when I had to run around the city like a madwoman, getting you out of trouble?” I took a sip of my wine, involuntarily smiling at the -- mostly -- fond memories. 

“When we shared our thoughts,” he corrected me. “When you trusted me enough to speak about the ones you loved.”

“Constantin,” I began, but he silenced me.

“I wonder if it was a mistake for us to go here,” he said soberly and sought my eyes. I had never seen him so tired. 

“Burhan, Cornelia, the Coin Guard...” I held my head in my hand. “You would not believe the level of corruption here. It is a disease.” Had the Old World been as corrupted? I tried to recall it. Perhaps it had, and I was too blind, too naive, to spot it. I averted my gaze. 

“It seems that you, wonderful Adalinde, are here to cure not only one but two sicknesses.” He raised his glass to me. 

“Hah. I am not too sure about that.” I inhaled a deep breath. “I miss Serene too,” I admitted truthfully. “But we can not return empty-handed. We have so much left to do. Your father...” I trailed off.

He sat silent for a short moment, before bursting out, “You are right as always, my dear! I was just being silly.”

It was only that he did not fool me this time either. 

*

I found Kurt sitting by an empty table in the tavern with a drink in his hand. He wore a yellowed, white shirt, the fabric wet with sweat and alcohol. I nearly didn’t recognize him, he was so rarely out of his armor.

“Green blood!” he shouted as he lay eyes on me. The hubbub around me silenced for a moment as the visitors cast me curious glances. They knew who I was -- I went nowhere without the badge that stated my position. However, the badge was quite unnecessary, since all knew that the Prince’s niece and the Congregation's Legate had an odd, characteristic infliction on the side of her face. The mark was a badge in itself. 

“Hello to you too, Kurt,” I said softly as I placed myself next to him. I was pleased when the people around us lost interest and returned to their drinking, talking, and gambling. “How are you?”

“Fantastical,” he slurred back, taking a swig. “Wondrous! It’s something your mother used to say, remember? Wond-ro-us. Sodding aristocrats find errything wondrous, don’t they, Green Blood? You should know. Tell me.”

“Let’s talk about it as we walk back to my residence?” I offered kindly, not showing that his words had struck me as the back of a hand. 

He snorted.

Kurt, my guard, and former mentor in combat. Neither Constantin nor I had lived up to his expectations when we were his students, but he had never given up on us anyway. 

And this time it was I who refused to give up on him. Not now when we had exposed the death of a young soldier he once was responsible for; not now when we had exposed the ghost camp; not now when he had told me that he himself had been abused in one camp not too different from the one I helped bring down. 

I contemplated fetching Vasco to help me drag Kurt home, but it would have been a betrayal from my side. None of our companions knew what Kurt and I had discovered. He had insisted that I was to keep it a secret, that it was something that only concerned the Coin Guard. 

I had made a lot of these promises lately, promising Vasco the same when I found out about how the Naut’s used their ‘magic.’ 

It was a delicate thing, secrets. Being a Legate, I was getting used to keeping them close to heart, just as Petrus advised me when we confronted Mother Cardinal Cornelia about her sinful hobbies. 

Promises, however, I was not fond of. Promises are uncannily similar to debts. 

I waved to the bartender, getting a drink for myself. I could not carry Kurt out of there, so I thought it best to keep him company. I was unsure of what the bartender served me, but when I took a deep drink of the amber-colored liquid, I had to twist my lips to keep it down.

Kurt looked at me, humor in his eyes, beads of sweat on his brow.

“Not what you’re used to, huh?”

My throat felt as if it was in flames. “Not exactly,” I coughed. 

“You’ll grow to like it.” Kurt smiled broadly. It struck me that I never before had seen him smile genuinely.

“I doubt that,” I admitted, returning his smile. I took another, more careful sip. “But I can surely try.”

*

I woke up, naked as a newborn child, in a bed I did not recognize, with a woman I did not know sleeping on my arm. The room was heavy with the smell of cheap perfume. 

“No,” I murmured, looking about. “No, no, no…” My head drummed loudly and I was on the verge of retching. Feeling incredibly sorry for myself and most bewildered about the situation I somehow had put myself into, I pulled the bed covers tight around my body, slowly freeing my numbed arm. I glanced at my bedmate. The woman next to me was beautiful in her own right; a chicken-pox scar was engraved over one of her sculpted brows, her plump lips painted with smudged make-up, her tousled hair a glowing red. 

At least, she did not resemble Siora. It was always something. 

Four gentle knocks rapped on the door, startling me, interrupting my inspection. The woman turned around, her soft snoring continuing. I leaped out of bed and snatched my scattered clothes, quickly donning them.

“Green blood,” Kurt wheezed from the other side of the door. “We must get out of here!”

I took a glimpse of myself in the mirror, deeming I was presentable enough, and placed some money on the nightstand table, mumbling a ‘sorry, thank you, good to see you’, to the sleeping woman, before I joined Kurt in the corridor. 

I straightened my back and strode out of there, my gaze intently fixed right before me. 

“Adalinde,” Kurt tried feebly, staggering behind me, “Let me at least fix your hair --”  
“Hush,” I growled. Not once since I arrived at the New Lands had I slipped, making a mistake as grave as this, and with a common harlot at that. They lacked the grace and tact of a courtesan. I mulled all possible consequences in my mind. If the wrong person caught wind of what I’d done, they would be able to get me beheaded. 

We went out on the busy cobble streets and the morning sun splashed on us. We squinted, groaning, and for a second, the pain that went through my body washed out my fear of being caught as a tribadist. 

“Kurt. What happened last night?” I asked, quickening my pace, nervously scratching my hardened skin.

He massaged his temple. “I’m… really not sure,” he said. “But that is not what I was going to tell you. Damn it, Adalinde!”

I ignored him. 

It was first when I reached the door to my residence, I shot him a look. “Tell me, then,” I said as we entered. We were alone, I thought, mighty relieved; the servant I’d hired was only there a couple of hours every day, and Siora was probably out doing whatever Islanders do in their free time. Vasco, Aphra, and Petrus all had their own accommodations at the inn. 

“Listen.” Kurt brusquely took hold of my arm, hindering my frantic movements. “I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll be blunt.” He took a deep breath, his face somber. “I have betrayed you, Adalinde. I have betrayed you, Constantin, the Congregation.”

I stared at him; my mind slowly sobering. “Who did you tell?” I rubbed at my crusty eye, trying not to lose my wits more than I’d already had. “Did you tell the ministers I was at a brothel?” I writhed at the thought of Mr de Courcillon’s reaction.

“Wha-- No!” He shook his head vehemently. “The Coin Guard is about to overthrow the cities, Adalinde. Hikmet, San Matheus… New Serene.” He fell down on one knee, letting me take it all in. His shoulders trembled.

“When?” I whispered, my mind spinning. 

“Any minute now.” His voice was thin. “Any minute.”

*

“I cannot believe this!” Constantin burned with a raging fire I’d never before seen in him, and what was even worse, was that it was directed at me. I shrunk beneath his gaze, my heart close to shattering. “You let him get away! The man who tried to perform a coup against _me_! The man who wanted me dead!”

I anxiously wetted my lips. “I am sorry, Constantin. I did my best.”

“And you!” He pointed a square finger at Kurt. “If it were not for our history, you would be behind bars! Hanged! Beheaded! All at once!”

Kurt lowered his eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching. 

“He is the reason we all are alive,” I said, my voice thick. “Let him walk free. Please.” I caught Constantin’s gaze. “I have never asked anything of you, have I? I beg you, cousin.”

Constantin took a shuddering breath. Lady Laurine de Morange put a tender hand on his arm.

“Kurt did warn us, after all, Your Highness,” she said softly. “And because of Kurt's and Adalinde’s swift actions, all of us, indeed, are alive.” The ministers and advisors mumbled their assent, Mr de Courcillon nodding. Our eyes briefly met, and he blinked at me. 

“Yes, my lady,” Constantin said, placing his hand over hers. “You are correct, as always. Adalinde, from now on the Malichor is of the highest priority. Remember what you promised my aunt.”

“Yes, cousin,” I breathed out and fell on my knees before him. I shivered -- for a moment I had believed he was to punish me -- and he grasped my shoulder. He was right in that I had prioritized my diplomatic duties, trying to form alliances with both Hikmet and San Matheus and, of course, the Islanders. A stab of guilt went through my entire being as I thought about the last time I had seen my mother, slowly dying from the Malichor.

“How could I not forgive you?” he said, his thumb caressing me. “It is you who saves me, time and time again. My dearest friend. I fear I will forgive you for anything.” The grip around my shoulder hardened. “How could I not?” he repeated. He removed his hand from me, clapped his hands together, and turned to look at his ministers and advisors. “Now that my cousin has saved us all, we can return to our seats, but before that, let us have a feast! It is a joyous day that deserves to be celebrated.” 

I returned to my residence, my fingers stained with the blood of treacherous Coin Guards, and with an uneasy feeling in my gut. I only prayed that the messengers I sent arrived to Hikmet and San Matheus in time.

*

  
  


“Your Excellency,” Lady Morange said, cradling the cup of tea in her hands. “I must admit I am worried about Constantin’s health.”

“I already convinced him to send after a doctor.” I looked at the tea leaves in my cup, wondering if it was true they could predict one's future. “I wish I did not have to leave. He has always detested physicians.” I grimaced, knowing it was because he was appalled by how they had treated me. “It is a good thing, my lady, he has you here. You are invaluable to us all.” 

She gave a gracious smile, the edges around her eyes crinkling. “Oh, you are too kind, Your Excellency. I assure you that I am not as important as I make myself seem.” A gentle peal of laughter. 

I fiddled with my tea cup’s ear, hesitating. “May I ask you something?”

“Why, of course.” Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

“Are you pleased with your life here?” 

For the shortest of moments, she looked baffled. Carefully she lowered her cup of tea, and it clattered to the little saucer underneath it. “Lady De Sardet,” she said, treading slowly, “are you asking what I believe you are?”

I placed my hands on the mahogany table, nodding. After the coup, I became tired of playing games. “Do you not hold any resentment against Constantin for taking your position?”

“As a matter of fact, I do not.” She gave a controlled shake of her head, keeping my gaze. “I am content here, Your Excellency. I enjoy my life. Since he became the Governor, I find that I have more time for my interests.”

I swallowed, giving a gracious gesture with my hand. If anything, I didn't wish to press her. She was one of few I was able to call an ally. “I must apologize, it was wrong of me to accuse you. I misstepped.”

“I do not hold it against you. We are living in a peculiar time.” She returned to her cup, taking a sip of her steaming tea, her eyes sincere. 

“We truly are, my lady,” I said and held in a sigh.

*

  
  


I jolted wide awake, my body covered in cold sweat, my breaths wheezing. I wiped at my slick forehead, blinking into the half-dark. My hand let go of the handful of quilt it grabbed onto as I understood that it’d just been another nightmare. I should have gotten used to them by now, to find myself staring into the barrel of a smoking gun, but I had not.

Sliding out of my cot, I staggered out of the abode the villagers had lent to me, trying to cleanse my mind. My gaze rested on the _Tierna harh cadachta_ ’s abode. The thick, dark smoke spiraled out from the thatch roof, aiming for the starry sky. 

Mev and I had both survived thanks to Aphra. She had killed one of her own in order to save us, and I was beyond grateful. But, however brief, there came moments when ‘living’ felt more like an alien concept difficult to appreciate. I wondered if Mev ever felt the same. 

“Trouble sleeping?” Without me noticing, Siora popped up right behind me. I was startled by her approach, and she let out a quiet chuckle. 

“I fear so,” I said, and somehow, my stiff lips widened into a smile. “How about you?”

Siora gave a short shake with her head. Her hair was tousled and I quelled the urge to drag a hand through it. I could see myself escape into her embrace, flee into her skin, to hide from the demanding world. If things had been different, she could have been my sanctuary. Sadly, she was so much more. “I sat by Mev’s side,” she said, breaking my thoughts. “I think she will be well enough to see you in the morning.”

“Let us hope,” I replied with a nod, turning to the crackling fire that was the heart of the village of Vigshadir. I took a deep inhale of the crisp air, feeling it settle in my lungs. 

Mev was my last chance. If she didn’t have a cure for the Malichor, no one did, and I would find myself at another dead end. My mind swam as I tried to figure out what I needed to do next. I refused to go to the Bridge Alliance; they had sent a spy after me, and I doubted Mother Cornelia could pray the sickness away, however much she believed she could. Perhaps Petrus had some dusty documents somewhere that only needed translating; perhaps Aphra could find a plant with the right properties ... 

“Adalinde,” Siora said softly, reaching out to me. This was the first time I heard her utter my name. I felt her hands -- so warm -- close around my fist. I swallowed, relaxing my hand. I hadn’t realized I’d closed it. 

“I promised my mother to find a cure,” I confessed. Siora pressed my hand. With my gaze still fixed on the reaching flames, I explained. “She has the Malichor. Had,” I quickly corrected myself, because however much I wanted her to live still, it was impossible. 

I dared to glance at Siora. She had narrowed her brows in concern and compassion. I gently wrenched my hand free from her touch, my stomach heavy with guilt. She did not deserve my defilement, the filth that was my mind. 

“I’ve only heard of the disease. Malichor,” Siora said, tasting the foreign word. How was it possible that a word carrying so much destruction could sound so beautiful rolling off her tongue? I was unable to take my eyes off her lips, instead imagining they were giving empty promises, the kind all men want to hear. I could not help it. My hollowed heart was drawn toward her like a moth to a flame. “But I know how it is to lose a mother.”

I bit my inner-cheek, trying to gather myself. The glare of Queen Bladnid immediately replaced my impure thoughts. I cleared my throat, nodded toward her abode, and forced myself to smile. “I must apologize, Siora. You have been awake for how long? I did not mean to keep you.”

“You aren’t,” she said shrugging. The feathers on her clothes moved with her. “I’m not tired.” She took a few steps toward the fire and looked at me over her shoulder. “Come, sit with me. It’s freezing.”

The orange firelight danced beautifully across the planes of her face, and I could not say no.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I may or may not have forked up this bit, but I was completely unsure of how to get things rollllling. Plus uni is killing me so bear with moi.

"Tell me about you,” Siora said, warming her hands by the fire. I was overcome with the sudden urge of grasping her fingers in mine.

Instead, I did what any reasonable -- what any respectable -- woman would. I shook my head and gave a small chuckle. “Me? I am not that interesting.” 

“All of us carry a story inside.” Pointedly, she patted her chest, giving me a curious glance. 

“If it is a story you want,” I said, looking intently into the fire, “you ought to speak with Petrus. Or Vasco. Perhaps even Aphra.” 

“I have,” she surprised me by saying. Her lips curled into a smile. “Kurt told me about when he first met you.”

“He did?” I asked absently. It struck me that I didn’t remember our first meeting -- he hadn’t seemed so special at the time. “When did he have time for that?”

Her gaze fell down in embarrassment. I bit my lip. Perhaps it had sounded like an accusation. 

“You were in your tent,” she said after a while, and I also heard what she didn’t say: _as you usually are._

I remembered the conversation I had had with Constantin. ‘They are not my friends’, I had said, and that was true. I was the Legate, the leader of this expedition. Being friends with them meant risking my priorities, breaking boundaries. Yet somehow, knowing I was left out of their budding companionship, was more hurtful than I had imagined. Vasco, while being a Captain, had after all been on good terms with his crew.  
I shifted my weight. 

“What would you like to know?” I relented. Siora’s brows furrowed in bewilderment. “About me,” I clarified.

Her brows smoothed out, and she narrowed her eyes in a heady smile. “Tell me about your tribe, _renaigse,_ ” she said, her voice soft. It was probably the first time I heard the word said without any hint of aversion. “How you lived before you came here.” 

“Oh,” I began, because how was I to describe that the palaces she had seen were nothing compared to where I grew up? That I had dined with silverware and imported, handpainted porcelain, all things which Siora hardly cared for. Or was I to tell how wheels and horses and stirrups had brought us, as a society, forth? Perhaps I was supposed to tell her about my training with Kurt, of the time he taught me to fire a rifle and I fell to the ground from the recoil. But what was gunpowder to magic? “Serene is different from here, wildly so, even,” I forced myself to say, but immediately tailed off, suddenly at a loss for words. Siora’s verdant gaze, intent on me, had that effect. My stomach fluttered and my cheeks heated, and I figured I was in luck that this was not a diplomatic meeting. 

I made a gesture with my hands, as if grabbing words from thin air, but the only descriptives that sprang to mind were all remarkably similar to the word ‘civilized’, which was not only terribly rude, but also wrong, I realized. 

The native tribes I had met thus far had been unwelcoming towards us, the _renaigse,_ but they had their reasons -- I understood that much. To each other, tribe member to another, they were helpful and understanding. I had seen for myself an orphaned child be cared for by its peers without the slightest hesitation, while back in Serene, the orphanages were overcrowded. Every person had their place here; even the old and sick. I thought of my mother then, dying alone in her isolation, her regal beauty malformed by disease. My uncle hadn’t visited her since the first sign of the Malichor erupted.

“You are more tactile than I am used to,” I managed when the weight of silence was too much to bear, feeling my face contort into a frown. 

Siora’s brows raised. “Tactile?” 

“You touch each other,” I continued, glad I at least managed to break the silence. “I have not seen you speak with one of your tribe members without touching them at least once. And, when you eat, you eat from the same bowls …” I blew a self-deprecating sigh. ”Where I come from, we don’t do that. We are more … reserved, if you like.”

She sat quietly for a while, mulling what I said. Our hands rested side by side on the log where we sat, our little fingers almost touching. “I have seen you touch people too,” she said after a while, her nose adorably crinkled. 

I studied the beautiful freckles that were dusted over her face, wanting to count them. “Yes, but not … in the same extension you do.” 

She regarded me some more. “Would you like me to stop touching you?”

“No,” I admitted, my face growing warmer. I slid my gaze back to the fire. My voice was quieter when I said, “Except for Mother and Constantin, you are the only one to touch me without fear. I have missed that.” 

Her brows narrowed. “Why would your people be afraid of touching you?”

I gave a light shrug. “The same reason they fear _your_ people.” Her eyes darted to my mark, and I could see the question forming in her eyes. “No, I did not mean I am _sin_ _ol menawi_ ,” I said a bit grudgingly and covered the mark as well as I could with my hand, nearly compelled to scratch at it as I had when I was a child. “But simply different.”

“Because of the mark,” she stated.

“Well,” I nodded, uncomfortable by the matter, “yes.” Silently I chided myself for bringing it up. “I ought to return to sleep,” I said after a while, wondering how I ever was going to sleep again. I studied her face again, feeling something in me soften as I did so. She looked tired. “As should you.”

“Soon,” Siora said, and I made to go. On my way back to the tent, my feet suddenly stopped moving. Guilt simmered in my guts, and I knew I was supposed to say something. Taking a deep breath, I spun about to Siora, her back facing me. I swallowed. 

“Siora?” 

She turned to me. While I saw that her brows were slightly raised, the firelight behind her shadowed most of her face. “Yes?”

“I am truly sorry about your mother. Perhaps, if I made sure we traveled faster --”

She silenced me with a raised palm. “I don’t blame you,” she said, measuring her words. “You did everything you could, and for that, I’m grateful.” 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” I admitted wistfully.

“And that,” she said quietly, “is why you are my _carants_. You are a good person, Adalinde.”

If only she knew the dark thoughts manifesting my mind. 

*

I choked, clawing at my tightening throat. Siora raised her voice, speaking fervently in the language I never seemed to grasp. The branches cinched around my neck as I imagined a hangman’s rope would. 

My eyes swelled, my temples pounded. Although my vision was blurry, I saw Siora slumping to her knees before Mev, letting out a high-pitched cry. 

At that, Mev tore her dimmed gaze off me and cut Siora a sobering look, finally unclenching her fist. The branches withered at that, loosening the grip they held of me, and disappeared down the earth. Hitching for breath, I collapsed to the ground. 

“A misunderstanding,” Mev said loftily, struggling to switch to my language. “Thought it was you who shot me.”

I have never wanted to smack someone’s face more than I did then. 

“No,” I croaked, feeling miserable. I massaged the raw skin at my throat. Once I had met a man who’d survived being hanged (I didn’t know all the details and was polite enough not to ask), and he was forever reminded with an unflattering scar. “We were betrayed as well.”

“Shame.” Mev’s lip curled, and she turned to Siora. They exchanged a few sentences in their mother tongue, and Siora cast me several anxious glances. Her brow was slightly furrowed, her shoulders somewhat stiff. Until then I hadn’t realized how good I’d become at reading her expressions.

“Malichor?” Mev suddenly said. My head whirred in her direction. “Never have I heard of such sickness, or the symptoms.”

Something in me went out at that. My hope was blighted, and all I could think was that I shouldn’t have hoped in the first place. Hope’s fatal. 

“But we heard you had a remedy,” I began feebly, but she vehemently shook her head. 

“Not meant for you, or the sickness you are speaking of,” she said curtly, but helped me up from the ground. Mev surprised me with her sudden gentleness. She, too, seemed unfazed by my mark and the disease my people thought I carried. 

“I invite you and Siora to dine with me.” 

I shot Siora a questioning look and she gave a nearly imperceptible nod. 

“Thank you,” I said with a small bow, trying not to wince. Mev was a person of utmost importance, after all (and in spite of her just trying to kill me, I wished to show my respect). Siora later told me Mev smirked as I did so, but I had at that point mostly interacted with native traders and those from Siora’s clan. I was aware I still had a lot to learn -- Lady Morange’s lectures in islander etiquette had been somewhat inadequate. “I gladly accept your offer.” 

Mev left the abode, limping, and Siora placed herself by the small fire, folding her legs. She looked at me sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry,” Siora said. “I know you must be disappointed.”

“It is not your fault,” I said, and her lips curved into a thin, concerned smile. “I should have known she did not possess a cure.” I sighed, and then, a bit wistfully, “Deep down, I think I did.” I sat down next to Siora, though my seating was not near as graceful. I missed chairs. “I should thank you,” I continued, “for saving my life. I was not wholly prepared for that to happen.” 

“Mev can be…” Siora gave an apologetic shrug, “impulsive, at times.”

I shook my head, massaging my throat. “That is one word for it,” I said. 

Mev returned shortly after that, bringing three pieces of flatbread and a large wooden bowl with steaming soup. I hoped Aphra, Petrus, Kurt and Vasco were offered something to eat too, since I at that moment decided to return to New Serene as soon as we'd eaten. I needed to come up with a new plan, and I longed for Constantin’s company. He always knew what to say to calm me down, to help me gather my thoughts, which I was in dire need of. 

“Legate,” Mev said as she uncouthly dipped her bread in the soup before passing the bowl to Siora. It was clear that this dinner had turned formal, and so I pushed my looming thoughts aside, though the thought of sharing bowls vexed me.

“Yes, _Tierna_?” I asked tentatively. I scolded myself, thinking I should have asked Siora earlier on how to properly address Mev, but I was relieved when neither of them seemed to react to my choice of words. 

“I do not know anything about the Malichor,” Mev admitted. “But if anyone on this island does, it is _En ol frichtimen._ ”

“ _En ol… frichtimen?”_

“God of thousand faces,” Siora clarified. It didn’t help me at all, but I nodded, humming. 

“Perhaps he even created the sickness,” Mev continued. Her sharp eyes met mine, and I struggled not to avert my gaze. She challenged me, and after her attempt on my life, I refused to step down. 

“Why would he have done that?” I asked. Siora tried to pass me the soup bowl, but I declined with a small flick of my hand, not taking my eyes off Mev’s. 

“Is it not…” she paused and turned to Siora, presumingly to get help translating. 

“Obvious,” Siora said.

Mev repeated the word, giving a fleeting gesture with her hand. “Obvious.”

“It could be,” I said slowly, “but it does not explain the outbreak back at the mainland. My people died from Malichor long before we sat foot here.”

Mev quirked a brow. “If that’s what you believe, _renaigse,_ you are misinformed. I know only one who is able to conjure a sickness as malicious as the one Siora explained.”

I sat quiet for a while, and this time, I took the bowl Siora offered me. I set my lips to the part of the bowl’s rim from which she had drunk the soup, but not even this secret action of hidden desire removed the feeling of unease Mev’s words instilled in me. 

“What do you mean, misinformed?” I asked after I swallowed the lukewarm soup, passing the bowl to Mev. 

“Your people have been here before,” Mev said. She cocked her head to the side. “It is not impossible they brought the sickness back to your lands.”

I leaned forward. “We have only been here for a little more than a decade.”

Mev snorted at that. “Explain then,” she said, not unkindly, “why you were raised across the sea and not here? You are _sin ol menawi,_ Legate. You were stolen from our earth. I’m not saying _En ol frichtimen_ unleashed the sickness, because that is only my speculation, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

I shook my head. “I am not _sin ol menawi,_ or what you now call it,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, but even as I spoke Mev raised an eyebrow. She was infuriating. 

“Your mark,” Mev said and touched her own cheek, “haven’t you seen the resemblance it bears to Siora’s? To mine?”

I could no longer hold back a silent growl. Of course I had, but it didn’t mean I cared to hear more of it. I slowly rose up to my feet. “This meeting is over.” And, with that, I stalked out of her abode, anger surging inside me. It was highly unlike me to lose my temper, but Mev was clearly insane. I heard Siora’s hurried footsteps behind me and I felt the cautious looks from the tribe members, but I stopped first when Kurt called out to me, right outside the abode I lodged in. 

“What is it?” I almost shouted, desperate to be alone, packing. 

“A messenger has arrived,” he said casually, undeterred by my bad mood. He went up to me, followed by a haggard-looking man. I forced myself to take three calming breaths and righted my tricorn. In the meantime, Kurt must have spotted my bruising skin. "Adalinde! What happened to your neck?" he asked, louder than customary. 

"Nothing, nothing." I glowered pointedly at him, and turned to the messenger. “Yes?” I said, willing my voice to almost a whisper. My throat did, after all, pain me. “What is it that is so urgent?”

The messenger shifted his weight nervously, held his hat in his hand, and gave a swift bow. “Your Excellency,” he said, his eyes flickering between me and the onlookers. “I have been asked to give you a message in private.”

“I see.” I gestured to him to enter my abode. I noticed my hand still quivered with ill-suppressed anger. “Please, come in.”

I followed him inside and he fiddled with the hat in his hand, swallowing, looking about the scarce, native decor. His eyes momentarily widened as he lay eyes on a heap of carved animal bones.

“I shall return to New Serene with your reply as soon as I can,” he said after composing himself, his tone formal. “Lady Morange has sent me here with troublesome news.”

“That is not unusual,” I said, giving him a small smile that felt more like a grimace. “Would you like some water?”

“No thank you, Your Excellency.” He patted the pack that was slung over his shoulder. “I have more than enough.” 

“You do not need to fear me,” I assured him after a heartbeat of consideration. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, and I didn’t know if it was from traveling or anxiousness. “You just caught me at a bad moment, that is all.”

“I am afraid there is no easy way for me to tell you this,” he said, clutching his hat tightly. “You need not to worry about me,” he added hastily. “I have sworn an oath of confidentiality. I fear only for our dear, young prince’s health. Governor d’Orsay has fallen gravely ill, Your Excellency. The doctor says he has contracted the Malichor. The Governor has been placed in isolation with immediate effect. Lady Morange wishes for your swift return.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Constantin is sick?”

He made another nervous bow. “With the Malichor, Your Excellency.” He wetted his lips.

“Tell Lady Lorange I will arrive as soon as I am able. Do you have a horse, mister?”

The messenger nodded. “Yes, Your Excellency. A fine creature.” 

“Return to the Palace as quickly as possibly. I will get you the finest horse myself if he falls.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

I looked at him for a long time, as if trying to see if this was a cruel jest. He only licked his lips again, his eyes properly downcast. 

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

He made another bow and backed out of the hut. I heard him running towards his mount, and the islander’s curious chatter increased. First when the clappering of hooves had disappeared, I dared taking a deep, shuddering breath. 

Kurt gave a polite harrumph to alert his presence. Biting back my tears, I asked him to come in. 

“What was all that about?” he inquired as he stepped inside, a hand habitually resting on his sheathed sword. “He ran as if his rump was on fire.” 

“He told me Constantin is dying,” I said matter-of-factly, turning to my cot. I couldn’t meet Kurt’s gaze lest I broke down. We didn’t have time for any delayment. “We are leaving for New Serene today.” 

He hesitated. “... Has the Coin Guard caused any more trouble?”

“No.” I carefully placed my journal into my pack. “Not if they have poisoned him with the Malichor.”

Kurt let out a breath. “Damn, Green Blood.” A small, heavy pause. He surely wondered if he was supposed to console me, and I was glad when he decided not to. “I take the meeting with the _Tierna …”_

I gritted my teeth, interrupting him. “She doesn’t have a cure, Kurt, if that is what you are asking. She has not even heard of the disease. Alert the others we are leaving instead of pestering me. I wish to be gone from this forsaken village.” 

A light knock sounded then, more courteous than anything else. “Pardon my interruption,” Petrus said, “but I could not help hearing we were leaving.” He entered and his visage held no sign of shame from listening in on our conversation. 

“We are,” I said curtly, “so you better go gather your things.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, Adalinde. I tried to catch the young messenger to warn him, alas I am not the young man I once was. You see, a storm is coming.”

And as if on cue, a faint drizzle began to fall behind him. The village’s bonfire immediately sizzled and spluttered. 

I slid by them and hurried outside the abode. The sun had dimmed behind thick, dark clouds, and a shift of cool air made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. A few children, clad in fur and with feathers in their hair, rejoiced in it, jumping and running around. 

“Oh, Constantin,” I whispered to myself as the drizzle thickened and the winds grew. No matter how dear he was to me, I was responsible for the lives of my companions. He had to wait. I imagined him sitting in his secluded rooms, staring out the windows, hoping to see my arriving silhouette. 

Time was now all he had, and it was running out.

*

The sky wept the tears I refused to let fall, cried out the screams I quelled. Petrus sat on the earth floor next to me, quiet. He was the only one I allowed to sit out this raging tempest with me, his silent prayers calming the threatening chaos in my ailing mind.

Never before had I wished I could fight the winds, to refrain the rain from filling the rivers. Perhaps Mev was right, that the God of Tir Fradi was set on revenge. He did keep me from seeing the one person I cherished most of all, and it was only something a grudging devil would do. 

I jumped as lightning cracked the sky, holding my legs tighter. 

Petrus unclasped his hands, seemingly also startled. “We need to talk,” he said slowly, as if the lightning helped him come to some sort of conclusion. He glanced about the room.

“We do?” I asked, leaning my chin against my knees. I had unbraided my hair, and the damp lengths fell down my shoulders. “About what?”

He nodded dolefully. “I happened to overhear what the _Tierna_ said to you, Adalinde.”

I gave a vexed sigh. “While I admire your talents, some things are not meant for your ears. But yes, I fear I have led us onto another false trail. I should just accept that the Malichor does not have a cure.” I bit my lip hard. 

“Don’t be crestfallen, young lady,” Petrus said paternally, patting my shoulder. “All things have an opposite. If there is anyone who can find a cure, it is you. Of that I have not the slightest doubt.” 

“How can you be so sure?” I asked, clenching my jaw. “I have already lost a mother to the Malichor, and now I will lose my best friend. I --” My voice cracked at that. I quietened and wiped away snot from my nose with my sleeve. 

“I have known you since you were a young child,” Petrus said.

“I am well aware.” My hand closed over his. “You are the only one who ever interjected when they gave me another beating.” 

He continued as if I had said nothing. “Since you were newborn, in fact. I was the first one to ever hold you.” He smiled sadly at the memory. 

“You did? Mother never told me that.” I removed my hand. It was odd that Petrus would have been the first man to hold a princess’ newborn child, but maybe my mother had wanted a religious man there at the birth. While uncommon, it was not unheard of.

He put his head in his hands, giving an uncharacteristically groan. “I swore that day I would protect you, Adalinde. And I always have. I have made sure your secrets never traveled far. While you were chasing the leader of the coup, I silenced the young woman you visited.”

Embarrassed, my cheeks heated at that, but then another thought struck me. I moved away from him, warily, suddenly afraid of the man in front of me. A gale of foreboding premonition swirled in my gut. “Now, it is time to reveal one of my own secrets,” he continued, his voice quavering. My mouth had gone dry; the few words I could come up with slipped soundlessly off my tongue. I was unable to speak. “You see, Siora and the _Tierna Harh Cadachtas_ are not wrong about your mark. The late Princess was your mother in every sense of the word, except that she did not birth you.”

And so, he began to tell the tale that changed my life. 

*

While the storm outside had abated, the one inside of me hadn’t. My trembling hands left damp imprints in my journal as I in shaky writing did my best to summarize the short meeting with Mev from the day before. 

Petrus' story, while unbelievable, made more sense than I’d like to admit. I looked at my hands, closing my journal, unable to focus on the easiest of tasks. Blood crusted my fingernails. In pure desperation, as if I could disprove him, I’d tried to scratch the mark away, but the scratches had done nothing but turn my skin raw and bloody. 

My own people -- the _renaigse_ \-- had killed my birth mother, and Petrus, deeply infatuated with her, had saved my life, giving me away to the barren Princess de Sardet instead of letting me be raised by the Nauts. A gift sanctioned by my uncle. Prince d’Orsay hadn’t wanted me in Teer Fradee because of my skills. He wanted me because he thought I, as one of the islanders, would gain him the more influence. 

But I was no Islander. I was nothing, with nowhere to belong.

My breath hitched. I was no royalty -- I was not even Constantin’s cousin. Would he still love me, or was he to discard me? 

My life had been more than a lie. I had led my life deceptioned by the one supposed to love me the most. More than ever, I wished Mother was with me, able to explain herself. 

Petrus had said that a few Nauts, including Admiral Cabrall, had known about my true heritage, and Mother Cardinal Cornelia as well. My teeth clenched at that, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I felt ridiculed. I’d conducted diplomatic meetings with them, believing I’d had the upper hand more than once, and all the time, they had _known_. Known I wasn’t the one supposed to be there speaking with them. 

“ _R_ _enaigse!”_ A man barked outside my abode. “The _Tierna_ wishes to speak with you.”

I puffed a breath, unable to decline. While I wasn’t too keen on seeing her, I couldn’t help but wonder what she wanted. I quickly washed my hands and face, braided my hair, fastened my cape, brushed the dirt off my clothes and, finally, donned my tricorn, hoping I was presentable enough, aware I no longer could take my authority for granted.

*

“Legate. Thank you for seeing me,” Mev said as the man led me into her abode. I gave a greeting nod and placed myself on the floor in front of her, not saying anything before the man closed the door behind him, leaving us be. Her wild, forest-colored hair stood in disobedient disarray, making me feel almost too dressed up, too formal, too strict. I envied her lack of concern of what I might’ve thought.

“It seems I must apologize, _Tierna,_ ” I began, fidgeting with the necklace Mother gave me before departing.“My behaviour yesterday was most disgracious.”

Mev smiled at that, a kind smile that took me by surprise. She no longer looked intimidating. “Please, call me Mev. You saved my life from that spy, and in return, I nearly took yours. Believe me when I say that’s not why I wanted to see you.”

“No?” I doffed my hat, placing it next to me. My throat was still sore and my eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. 

“No,” Mev echoed as she prodded at the smoky fire. “Your mindshaker went to see me this morning. He told me everything, hoping I could be of help, which I think I can.” She nodded, as if to herself. At that moment, the air of hostility ceased between us, and I think we both sensed it. 

“He told me your _matir_ ’s name was Arelwin,” she mused aloud. Her gaze caught mine. “And that the necklace you’re wearing belonged to her.”

My fingers stilled around the heirloom. “It did?” I said hoarsely as fresh tears sprung up my eyes. Petrus hadn’t told me that. My heart softened a little, and I closed my eyes, remembering when Mother gave it to me. She’d wanted me to know, to keep this piece of my stolen heritage, but perhaps her heart would’ve broken if she told me herself. My chest ached with love for her. No matter what, she would always be my mother. I couldn’t possibly stay angry with her. 

“Let me take a look,” she said, reaching out an open palm toward me. Albeit a tad reluctant, I trembled and unclasped the small hook. She sent me another quick smile as my damp fingers touched hers. The silver chain glinted in the firelight as she hoisted it in the air, closely studying the hanging. Her eyes briefly narrowed before she returned it to me. “I’m not sure,” she said after a while, my heart palpitating, “but it seems to predict a bone. Arelwin may have been of the _Sísaíg cnámeis_ clan _._ ”

My mind was blank. It didn’t say anything to me. “... _Sisaig cnameis_?” I asked, my pronunciation off. My cheeks heated, and I put the necklace back on, the familiar hanging settling against my breast. 

She was gracious enough not to correct it. “You’ve met Ullan?”

“Ah, yes.” He was the tribe leader in the village of Vígnámrí and, thankfully, one of few islanders who hadn’t been hostile towards us. 

“Then it is there you should go,” Mev concluded. Then, she suddenly rose up to her feet, dusting off the back of her legs. “Come,” she said, and her tone let me know it was not a question. 

I swiftly donned my hat and followed her out. We left the village in comfortable silence, entering the vast woods. Drops of water still dangled in the branches, and my feet sank in the mud and soaking moss. A bird called out in warning, and another fluttered in the bushes. 

“I’m not often in the village,” she said to me, breaking the silence between us. She pressed a hand against her shimmering temple, making a slight frown. “I can’t think there.” She made a wide gesture. “Out here, I can. And last night, I went here to think.”

My head swiveled in her direction. “You were out alone in the storm?”

“I was,” she said severely. “I thought about your sick friend, and a name sprung to mind. Maybe there’s one person who can help him. Seek out _Doneigad_ Catasach of the _Yígaíg srodí_ clan.”

I inhaled the crisp air, feeling it fill my lungs, revitalizing me. “I do not know how to thank you,” I said and gently grasped her arm. She winced at my touch, so I immediately let go of her. Instead, I fell down on my knees, bowing my head. My pants darkened from the wet ground. While Petrus’ words of warning echoed in the back of my head I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “What do you wish in return?” Because, at that moment, I would’ve given her anything.

“There’s nothing you can do, _renaigse_ ,” she said, her voice at once cutting. My head shot up at that, and our gazes met. 

Still down on my knees, I said, “I can make sure to deliver food and other necessities, anything you need.”

Mev straightened her back, and scorned pride shone in her eyes. “We don’t need your food or ‘necessities’, Legate. We can manage ourselves without your help.” 

“Oh, of course,” I gave in, my gaze falling. Humiliation burned my neck and my fingers burrowed in the cold moss. “I only wished to repay you.”

After a few moments, Mev let out a light, short laughter. I looked at her, bemused, as her mood swing left me in complete confusion.  
“Stand up. You need not bow for me.” She tilted her head, gazing into the thickets. “You should go to your friend, but the day you're ready, meet with your clan. I think it’ll be good for you.”

As we returned to the village, I mulled over our conversation, my mind nearly exploding with thoughts. Constantin, I decided, was much more important than anything -- or anyone -- else. Especially me.

He needed me. But the thing was, that I probably needed him even more.


End file.
